My ambition, as Author, my point, I would go so far as to say my fixation, my constant fixation, was primarily to concoct an artifact as original as it was illuminating, an artifact that would, or just possibly might, act as a stimulant on notions of construction, of narration, of plotting, of action, a stimulant, in a word, on fiction-writing today.
Postscript from A Void, by Georges Perec
Deconstruction rules in cuisine, but sometimes in writing, too. This morning, while lying in bed, I thought of the following; it just popped into my mind. Georges Perec wrote his entire novel without once using the letter E (in his other book of this type, Perec dismissed the very first letter, which rhymes with Eh, like I did in this blog post). It seems incredible, like it would be impossibly complex, but in truth it’s not difficult. You keep your eye focused on the big theme or motif; find the guilty letter (glowing red on its Pilgrim outfit) within your prim sentences; ruthlessly remove it wherever found; then come up with synonyms for the words involved. The process works pretty well, if you don’t mind relinquishing control over whole sets of key words- some of the most powerful concepts, too.
“He’s going nuts,” you suggest (I know, your intent is humorously innocent). Losing sleep over these kinds of thoughts is, I suppose, one weird effect- one huge price- of being unemployed, i.e. retired from Medicine, with excess time to spend on such things. Plus, I suspect this sort of nervous pre-sunrise exercise is brought on by the Trump News: the numerous eye-popping events of this fortnight. Now Trump is fleeing the country on his religious World Tour- well, good luck World, we’ll genuflect for you when he gets to Rome!
In the context of the sinking presidency, it seems I’m experiencing the urgent need to deconstruct, to expel specific offensive thoughts, even chunks of memory. I’ve cut out the first letter, the first vowel. Oh, if only it were possible to reverse history, to possess such fine control over life!